T'Khut Rising
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #35 Seven years in a Vulcan's life. It doesn't amount to much...unless you're male. Spock, Lauren, and son each face their own private challenges during a visit to planet Vulcan.
1. Chapter 1

In the aftermath of their latest joining, Spock lay in bed while his wife drifted to sleep beside him. All week Lauren had carefully monitored the physiological changes that made him reach for her more frequently than usual. As long as the sexual tension remained at this level, it would pose no serious difficulty, but the memory of that last Time was never far from them. Seven years ago, the pon farr nearly ended their marriage.

A small noise drew his attention. It came again. The faint computer tone from downstairs signaled an incoming message of unusual importance.

Curious, Spock rose quietly in the darkness and put on his robe. The stairs creaked as he went down to investigate. He turned on the small light by the monitor and found a subspace transmission from Vulcan loaded into the message queue. He seemed to sense that it was bad news. _Illogical,_ he told himself. _News—either good or bad, cannot be sensed._

Yet he could not entirely shake the feeling of trepidation as he sank into the chair and ordered the message onscreen. An image of his father appeared, as imposing as ever with his ambassadorial robes and graying hair. Sarek's brief phrases delivered the news in his usual concise manner. There had been a death in the family. Solkar was gone.

Spock was staring at the blanked screen when Lauren came downstairs and found him. He replayed the message for her. Standing at his side, she rested a hand on his shoulder and watched.

"Your great-grandfather," she said when it was over.

"Yes." Strange, to be so affected by the passing of a man he had never liked. All through his childhood he had feared and resented the imperious Solkar; as a young man he may have grown to respect him for his professional accomplishments, but never anything beyond that. Never.

Lauren's hand moved, gently stroking his shoulder. "He's the one who beat you."

Spock swallowed against the dryness in his throat, and nodded. The old man had been tall, straight, and incredibly strong compared to an undersized halfling boy. He had radiated an unbending coldness that made the Spock tremble even before Solkar's whip struck him.

"It…was the custom," he said, although they both knew how badly Solkar had abused that custom. On Vulcan, children were rarely subjected to physical discipline, but if the need arose it was usually the paternal grandfather who administered it. Spock's earliest years had passed agreeably under the gentle guidance of his grandfather, Skon. Then Skon had received a diagnosis of plakir-fee—and soon thereafter died by his own hand, tearing Spock's young world asunder. When Solkar stepped into Skon's place, he did everything in his power to undo the "softness" instilled by Skon. Out of shame, Spock hid the bruises from his parents and remained silent.

"You'd think," said Lauren with feeling, "that a musician would have had more sensitivity."

"One would," Spock agreed. As a child he had attended a few of Solkar's concerts with his parents. He remembered the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he sat watching his great-grandfather's elegant hands—the same hands that were so skilled at inflicting pain and humiliation.

"They expect you to come," Lauren said, "don't they?"

Spock shut off the screen. Drawing in a deep breath, he turned to his wife. "If at all possible. Solkar was a prominent member of the clan. His katra will already have been enshrined in the Hall of Ancient Thought. It is customary for the family to attend a memorial service, during which his ashes will be scattered from atop Mount Seleya. There will be an honorary clan-gathering afterward.

Lauren's blue eyes searched him. "Now, of all times. What are you going to do?"

Reaching into the pocket of his robe, Spock drew out a small bottle of T-ban, the experimental hormone regulator Lauren had developed in her lab here at home. They did not speak much about the worrisome condition for which he was taking regular doses. They used pleasant euphemisms like "the fever".

Looking at the bottle, Spock said, "Your lovely green capsules do seem helpful. However…" There was no need to speak it aloud. They both knew he did not fully trust the drug—or himself.

oooo

The impact of Solkar's death sent Spock straight into remission. So he would go—not alone, they dared not risk that—but the three of them, as a family. It would, Lauren thought optimistically, be a valuable experience for Simon, who at six years of age had never set foot on the planet of his father's birth. They had always intended to visit Vulcan, but somehow time had slipped by, its passage all but unnoticed. One day Simon was in diapers, the next day he was caught up in school and violin recitals. And now there was also Little League. Though underage, he had begged to try out, and his advanced coordination had won him a place on a local team named the Giants. Sometimes it seemed to Lauren that he was growing up too fast, but Spock always assured her that such a thing was quite impossible. And full-blooded Vulcan children advanced even more rapidly.

As Lauren packed, she found herself looking forward to the trip, in spite of the grim reason for it. Starfleet Academy was on summer break and she had arranged her own schedule in order to spend a few weeks on Vulcan. Spock would have an opportunity to renew ties with family members and other acquaintances that he had not seen in years. Lauren could consult with healers on her Vulcan plakir-fee research.

She smiled as she packed her suitcase. There would be time for other things, as well. For now, Spock was still marginally fertile, and she might yet conceive another child—perhaps a little girl, this time.

Lauren pulled her mind back to the present. Clothing for her and Simon needed to be lightweight and cool, yet cut generously enough to protect them from the harsh sun and meet Vulcan standards of modesty. No shorts allowed. As for Spock, he could bundle up in the Sahara Desert at midday and feel pleasantly snug.

She paused in her packing to look at him and found Spock standing in front of the closet, lost in his own thoughts. He had been very quiet since receiving the news of Solkar's death, but at least his fever was still at bay. She would keep him on the T-ban and monitor his condition closely. Even if the capsules only acted as a placebo, they were better than nothing.

Simon appeared in the doorway. "Father. Is the sky really red on Vulcan?"

 _Father._ It was the way T'Beth addressed Spock, and not long after her return from Donari, Simon had begun copying her and dropped "Daddy" from his vocabulary. No amount of coaching on Lauren's part would change his mind. Perhaps, with Spock's Vulcan heritage, such formality was inevitable, but from the beginning Lauren had insisted that Simon—who was fully three-quarters human—must be raised as a human.

Rousing himself, Spock turned from the closet. "You have seen the holographic displays at the Planetarium."

"I know." Simon came in and sat between the travel bags on the bed. "But that's not the same as being there."

Spock nodded. "That is true. But I assure you, Simon, the daytime sky appears quite reddish, due to Vulcan's atmospheric conditions and the characteristics of Epsilon Eridani."

"Vulcan's sun."

Assuming a pedantic air, Spock said, "The term 'sun' is Terran in origin, and refers more specifically to the star at the center of the Solar System. Although common usage allows for the word in other applications, 'star' would be a better choice when describing Epsilon Eridani."

Repressing a smile, Simon caught Lauren's eye and said, "Well, anyhow, _we_ have the man in the moon, and Vulcan— _Yatara—_ has a girl moon called T'Khut. Right, Father?"

"Wrong." Spock looked downright scandalized. "Contrary to the childish fable, there is no man in Earth's moon, which is properly called Luna. And T'Khut is not a 'girl moon'—it is not a moon at all, but part of Vulcan's double planetary system."

Simon gave his father an innocent look. "But if T'Khut is a planet, why doesn't anyone live on it?"

"Because," Spock said less than patiently, "not all planets are habitable. You should remember that by now. Have I not previously explained that—"

Breaking into another smile, Lauren interrupted. "Spock. That boy is teasing you."

Spock raised a speculative eyebrow and as he studied them both, Simon rolled back on the bed, giggling.

oooo

Spock did not realize how much he had missed Vulcan until the initial greetings with his parents were over and they left the travelers' concourse. At the sight of the promised red sky, a sharp pang swept through him. Pausing, he inhaled the hot, thin air with the hunger of someone who had been away much too long. It had been nine years, as his mother was fond of reminding him. Part of that time Amanda and Sarek had lived at the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco, so Simon was well acquainted with his grandparents. It was obvious that Simon loved Spock's mother. Amanda's humanity was something the boy understood and responded to, but he had always had difficulty with Sarek. Spock doubted that this visit would bring much improvement in the stilted relationship between the two. Although Spock was no longer a child, even he felt tense and uncomfortable around his father. He was glad he had brought his family. Lauren and Simon quickly filled any lapses in conversation during the skimmer ride to ShiKahr.

When they reached the estate house, Simon's attention immediately focused on a portrait hanging prominently in the living room. Pointing to the solemn, dark-haired little boy, he asked, "Who's that?"

His grandmother smiled. "Can't you guess?"

Simon's level eyebrows drew together as he studied the boy's features. Suddenly he whirled and stared at Spock, wide-eyed. "It's you, Father, isn't it?"

Later that day Spock withdrew to the room that had been his since earliest childhood, and sitting on the old, chipped meditation stone, attempted to collect his mind. Restless memories of the past were everywhere, and he had a difficult time centering himself. He felt rather hot and lightheaded, as if all the years in the cool, rich air of San Francisco had de-acclimated him to his native planet. But he knew that was not really the cause.

He rose from a light meditative trance to find his wife sitting quietly at his feet. She had become so much a part of him that he had not been disturbed by her presence. For a moment he just gazed at her, appreciating the loveliness of her face captured by the last slanting rays of Eridani. Bathed in scarlet, she offered him the forefingers of her right hand. He joined his fingers to hers, energizing the path of their bond. Silently she rose up and kissed his mouth. He came off the stone; his left hand caught her in the small of the back and drew her firmly against him. Suddenly he wanted her—right here, right now, with a breathless urgency that made him almost forget he was on Vulcan, where there were no locks to keep out curious little boys.

Withdrawing from the kiss, he forced himself to release Lauren. As they looked at one another, Eridani disappeared into the purple of twilight.

"You're feverish again," she said in some dismay.

"And you," he countered, "are exquisitely beautiful. Have I ever told you so?"

Her eyes glimmered violet in the shadows. "One thousand, three hundred sixty-two point seventy-nine times. Precisely."

He opened his mouth to correct the gross inaccuracy of her calculation, but abruptly realized that her statement was not meant to be taken literally. "You made that up," he accused.

Her answering smile faded. "The fever—when did it come on?'

"Only this past hour. I will be alright," he assured her. "After the evening meal we can plead fatigue and retire early."

Lauren looked troubled. "Spock, something's happened. A case of plakir-fee has been reported in ShiKetsu. And there's another patient, not yet officially diagnosed—but they're from the same town."

Spock sat down. Outbreaks were rare, and Lauren would want to examine the patients. "Then you must go," he said, though the words pained him.

"I can't leave you like this," she objected.

"The T-ban will see me through."

"Spock…if only you could come along."

"You know that is not possible." ShiKetsu would be under a strict quarantine affecting all Vulcans and even aliens capable of becoming carriers. "Lauren, you must not lose this opportunity."

Searching his eyes, she nodded reluctantly. "I'll go with you to the gathering tomorrow. If I'm satisfied with your condition, I'll leave for ShiKetsu the day after. But I won't stay long."

Spock reached out and touched his fingers to her lips. His blood burning, he said, "Be forewarned, my wife. This night I intend to make you very, very satisfied."

oooo

Spock awoke before dawn in a light sweat, and sitting up, swallowed a capsule with a drink of water from the bedside table. In the first half of the night he had given little thought to anything beyond the sating of his needs. Now, as dawn's light filtered through the high windows, he gazed down at Lauren and found that he still wanted her. Impatient with himself, he dressed quickly and went out into the cool morning air. Leaving his mother's garden, he briskly walked the peaceful streets of ShiKahr. The exercise seemed to ease his body's tension—or was it the dose of T-ban working its way into his system?

Near the town's center a young Vulcan woman stopped him, and he observed her physical attributes with only moderate interest.

"Chatai," she said, beholding him with thinly concealed awe. "Excuse me, sir, but are you not Spock, the father of T'Beth?"

Here on Vulcan, he was commonly referred to as the son of Sarek. It took an instant to adjust his thinking. "Yes. T'Beth is my daughter."

Her dark eyes lit. "Is she here with you?"

"No," he replied.

The light in her eyes faded. "How unfortunate. Please, sir—can you tell her that you met T'Jhur, and I asked after her?"

Spock agreed and they went their separate ways. He had never heard T'Beth mention a friend by that name, but he had left many details of T'Beth's memory unexamined during their meld. Puzzling over T'Jhur helped distract him from his body's demands. By the time he returned to his parents' home, he felt very much in control of himself. He was ready to face the clan Talek-sen-deen.

oooo

The gathering to honor Solkar had been delayed until Spock's arrival. As one of the musician's great-grandchildren and son of Ambassador Sarek, Spock was considered prominent enough to wait for—and no doubt there was a great deal of curiosity regarding his wife and son.

After the scattering of the ashes, Spock's family entered the ancient assembly chamber reserved for the day's convergence at Seleya. In some ways it was not unlike a Terran wake, with much food and drink—only here there was no loud talk or singing or potential for drunkenness. Vulcans took these occasions seriously, using them to renew ties with distant members of sub-clans, such as the S'chn T'gai family to which Spock belonged.

The chamber was crowded. Spock kept Lauren and their son close by his side as he circulated amid the enclave of relatives. Wide-eyed and subdued, Simon studied the dignified, unsmiling Vulcans, the baseball in his hand all but forgotten.

The throng shifted, and Spock found himself face to face with Sarek's brother. Spock was prepared for him, and for the deep-seated stirring of animosity his uncle's presence always aroused. Inclining his head, Spock addressed Sparn using the title appropriate to their relationship.

"Greetings, T'teer."

Though Sparn's hair was liberally peppered with gray, his sharp eyes were as disdainful as ever. Spock was practiced in tolerating Sparn, but it became more difficult when the look of disdain broadened to include Lauren and Simon.

"T'teer," Sparn said coldly. "I see that you have sired another offspring." His haughty gaze left Simon and lingered over Lauren. "A fine looking female. It is well that you chose to marry _this_ one."

Spock felt Lauren touch his arm, as if she had sensed the anger rising in him. It was her signal that she would handle this.

"Yes," she said tartly. "Spock's doing very nicely with 'this one', thank you. And how are _your_ offspring? Your daughters and granddaughters? As I recall, you have no sons… _or_ grandsons. But do correct me if I am wrong."

Sparn arched an eyebrow and walked away.

"What an ass," said Lauren, just low enough to keep the profanity from Simon's inquisitive ears.

Spock turned toward her and raised an eyebrow of his own. "In some ways Sparn is very much like his grandfather Solkar."

"But he looks like _you!"_

"Yes," Spock concurred, "unfortunately."

As the afternoon wore on, Spock could see that Simon was growing tired and restless. Soon, if they wished, they could use it as an excuse to leave. Amanda appeared just long enough to take Lauren off with her to meet yet another relation. Alone for the moment, Spock gave his attention to Simon. The boy's hair had been cut a little shorter than usual for the trip. Its dark waves clung neatly to his head, fully—perhaps even defiantly—exposing the rounded human ears he had inherited from his mother. He looked painfully bored as he repeatedly tossed his baseball a short distance into the air and caught it with his right hand.

Some strange urge made Spock turn suddenly. Nearby, a woman stood watching him. She, too, was of the clan Talek-sen-deen, but he had hoped that she would not be here, for her husband had died not long before Solkar.

"Spock," she said in the aloof manner that he remembered so well.

"T'Pring," he acknowledged stiffly. "I heard of Stonn's death. My condolences."

"Yes," she said with something very much like sarcasm. "I am sure that you grieve with me."

It seemed to Spock that she was bitter, and that surprised him. She was the one who had rejected their betrothal bond, who had chosen instead a full-blooded Vulcan.

"Your son," she said with a slight flare of her delicate nostrils. "He is very human."

"Yes."

"And Lo-ren. Is that his mother's name?"

"It is," he replied, wanting only for the encounter to be over.

T'Pring gazed out over the hall. "Has she proved to be a good wife for you?"

There occurred one of those strange lulls in the undercurrent of conversations that left the chamber suddenly quiet—so very quiet that the sound of breaking glass caused every head to turn.

Spock also turned and looked toward the sound. In doing so, he realized that Simon was no longer at his side. Taking leave of T'Pring, he searched his way through the crowd and came upon the source of the disturbance. A huge, crystalline beverage decanter lay shattered on a buffet table. It contents had spilled over the surrounding food, onto the floor. In the middle of the mess was a round, white object. Simon's baseball. Simon himself stood not far from the damage, his eyes wide with fear.

Spock separated from the crowd and approached his son. "Simon," he said quietly, "what happened here?"

Simon gazed up at him, his lower lip quivering. "I didn't do it, honest."

Spock retrieved the incriminating, juice-spattered ball, and drew Simon away from the others. The weight of evidence was certainly against Simon, and Spock knew how easy it was for frightened children to lie. Holding the ball, he suggested, "Are you telling me it was an accident?"

Fighting tears, Simon shook his head adamantly. "It was a Vulcan boy. I was showing it to him. I was explaining how the game of baseball works."

"And then you threw the ball?" Spock pressed.

"No," Simon said, _"he_ did. _There_ —" He thrust out an arm, pointing. Spock turned and glimpsed the back of a dark-haired boy losing himself in the gathering. "Don't you believe me, Father?"

Spock sighed. "Yes, Simon. I believe you."

oooo

Lauren fought a nagging sense of uneasiness as she rode the first leg of her passage to ShiKetsu. She was worried about Simon, even though she knew her son would be well cared for by Spock and his parents. The baseball incident had upset him badly. Vulcan children, in their own way, could be as cruel as any other children. But most of all, Lauren was concerned about Spock. Having him here with her in the desert shuttle helped ease her mind, but what would happen when they parted? She could feel her body responding to his need for her.

Turning from the window, she looked at him, trying not to show her thoughts. But he guessed them anyway.

"I am alright," he said with a troubling hint of impatience. Irritability was a sure symptom of pon farr.

She said, "You _always_ tell me you're alright."

"That is not accurate," he countered. "I only say so when I am."

Rather than argue, she stopped right there. The shuttle slowed as it approached the junction where she would have to transfer. Her heart began to pound as she rose to bid Spock goodbye. To her surprise, he got up and walked out with her and the other departing passengers.

"I am taking another shuttle," he said without further explanation.

"You are? Where are you going? Why didn't you tell me?"

Something in his eyes gave her the answer. Her heart pounded harder. "You're going to Gol—aren't you? To the Hall of Ancient Thought."

"Farewell, Doctor Fielding," he said firmly.

Now Lauren was absolutely sure of it. Why would he want to go anywhere near Solkar's katra? The strain would not be good for him, but there was no use trying to talk him out of anything once his mind was made up. And she could see that it was.

As she struggled with her feelings he touched his paired forefingers to hers, passing along a reassuring impression of strength.

"In three days," she promised him.

Then they boarded their separate shuttles and Lauren was alone with her worries.

oooo

A meditation garden abutted the black rock face of the Hall, which had been carved from the mountain in the time of Surak. It was an austere location, frequently swept by scorching winds, but thorn hedges and fig trees survived under the meticulous care of the kolinahru and initiates who resided here.

At one time Spock had been among their number. He had received instruction and meditated and denied himself every creature comfort in a fruitless attempt to rid himself of all emotion. He had left here too ashamed and embittered by the idea of failing to see the fundamental error in his thinking. It had taken him some time to grasp it, but when he did, the revelation had overwhelmed him with its simplicity. _There is value in emotions, properly used._ And now, back in the garden of Gol, Spock intended to sort through the miasma of unpleasant emotions bequeathed to him by a musician known and revered even beyond Vulcan.

Today the air was still. Spock drank from a fountain, using the cool water to swallow a capsule. Then he went to one of the shaded benches reserved for private contemplation. The garden, the water, and even the hard bench beneath him reminded Spock of one of the many whippings dealt out to him by Solkar. Skin bared, teeth clenched, struggling soundlessly to overcome the pain that threatened to break his boyish heart. The tears had been more difficult to contain; he had never been able to completely stop them.

 _Is that what Solkar had wanted from him? Perfect control?_ As a child, Spock had been

unable to achieve it. As a young man he had, perhaps, overcompensated.

Gazing up into the narrow leaves of the Vulcan fig tree, he considered a question that had long troubled him. Solkar was Sarek and Sparn's grandfather. Did he treat them as harshly as he treated Spock? If yes—then Sarek, as an adult, should have surmised what was happening to his son. He could have intervened and he should have, unless… _unless he simply had not cared enough to do so._

Spock heard the soft sound of footsteps on sand. A cloaked figure approached and stood before him. A pair of smooth, feminine hands tossed back the cloak's hood, revealing T'Pring's still youthful features.

Though dismayed to see her, Spock felt his pulse quicken in a reflexive, physiological response. He put an immediate stop to it.

"I thought you might come here," she said. "Why waste your time? You did not even like Solkar. You told me so when you were eight."

"Yes," Spock said levelly, "but I am no longer a boy."

"True," she agreed. "You are not."

Her eyes took on a warmth that he had seen in them only rarely, and he was reminded of the summer of his fifteenth year. Anticipating the onset of his first Time, their parents had begun to create opportunities for the two of them to come together, so he and T'Pring would be something more than mind-linked strangers when they met upon the sand to consummate their bond.

Spock's mother had rented a summer home near T'Pring's family, and it was understood that he would perform certain social duties. Although Spock had never experienced a great rapport with his betrothed, once he worked his way past the initial awkwardness, those visits had not been altogether unpleasant.

T'Pring's parents were not really much wealthier than Spock's, but the way they lived had made it seem so. There had been rare and tasty food to eat, and many items of great interest. At fifteen Spock had been very much an innocent—inexperienced, untested, awed by the grandeur of her parent's estate, flattered by the attention T'Pring showed him.

One particularly warm day she had led Spock down into the coolness of her parents' cellar. He could still smell the musty odor as she descended the stairs before him, and drew Spock into the concealing shadows. He could still remember the shock of pleasure as she touched her hand to his for the first time; the softness of her skin as she began to openly caress his palm. He could still see the passion flaring in her youthful eyes as she seduced him with her mindplay. The clumsy, furtive coupling that followed had left him shaken and ashamed. Pre-marital sex between betrothed couples was discouraged among the young.

Spock had never lain with her again. His refusal had annoyed T'Pring, and when the promise of his manhood failed to arrive in the usual Vulcan timeframe, her disappointment deepened. When Spock turned eighteen there was talk of a bonding ceremony like that which he later shared with Lauren, but like many Vulcans, T'Pring considered the plak tow bonding the only true one, and would settle for nothing less. She would wait and see.

Another year had passed with no sign of Spock's blood warming. He left Vulcan for Starfleet Academy and did what he could to put matters of biology from his mind. In truth, he was glad to be spared the mating madness, even if some called it "rapture'. And though he regretted having failed T'Pring, it was a relief to be away from her.

Now T'Pring moved in beside him on the bench and said, "Have you ever wondered what it would be like to experience a true bonding? A Vulcan bonding?"

Her question, her very presence, was intrusive to the point of rudeness. Without looking at her he said, "That is something that I can never know, for I am not fully Vulcan."

"Your humanness intrigues me," she said softly.

Spock's eyes were drawn to her face. "I thought it was my humanness that sent you to Stonn's bed."

Boldly she moved nearer and touched her hand to his in an openly seductive caress. "Did you not also find your way to a lover's bed? I have seen your daughter T'Beth and I counted her years. She was born before I offered the challenge."

Spock pulled his hand away. He would not speak of his brief, life-altering affair with a Sy-jeera. "The past is past. There is no longer any bond between us."

She searched his face steadily. "Is there not?" Reaching out, she drew her warm fingers slowly down his cheek. "Do you not feel it?"

Spock fixed her with a cold stare until she removed her hand. Then, although it was not fully true, he said,"I feel nothing for you but pity."

T'Pring leaned closer. "I feel the stirring of your Vulcan blood. Your Time—it is upon you."

A surge of shame and revulsion brought Spock to his feet. T'Pring had scented him as if he were a sehlat in heat. In the past she had betrayed the bond of their betrothal, and so had he. But he would not now betray the bond he shared with Lauren.

She gazed at him, one eyebrow delicately arched. "Can you depend on a human? What if Lo-ren leaves you to die?"

"As you did?" Spock countered.

"I was young. I grew tired of waiting for you."

"Do not tell me that," he admonished. "I would have wed you in my youth, but you declined. At Kun-ut-kalife you had the husband of your choosing. Was he not all you thought he would be? Did his blood not burn hot enough?"

Her eyes grew moist with longing and regret. "He was not you."

Spock stared at her, his mind in turmoil, his body aflame. "Do not approach me again," he warned, and quickly left the garden. He was in no condition to face Solkar today.

oooo

ShiKetsu was smaller than ShiKahr, a parched scrap of a settlement tucked between two mountain ranges at Vulcan's equator. As Lauren alit from the shuttle, a torrid wind struck her with the searing force of a blast furnace. Clutching her bag, she hurried into the relative cool of the town's only medical center. Local Vulcans staffed the quiet, immaculately clean facility.

Though Spock had taught her some of Vulcan's First Language, she was not yet a confident speaker. Approaching a nurse's station, she fell back on Standard to introduce herself. A sandy-haired man popped in through a doorway at the station's rear and smiled broadly at her. Lauren blinked at the deeply tanned human in surprise.

"Do you know," he said in a cultured British accent, "how long it's been since I've heard Standard spoken like that?" As his gleaming blue eyes looked her up and down, he did not wait for a response. "My word! If you aren't a marvelous sight!"

"Hello," she said, as restrained as a Vulcan.

He gushed on. "And a human of the female persuasion, no less. Do you have any idea how long _that's_ been?"

"No," she coolly replied, but judging by your forwardness, I'd say it's been a considerable length of time."

He looked genuinely abashed. "Am I being forward? Forgive me," he said, offering his hand. "Travis Van Allen, physician at large."

Lauren grasped his hand out of courtesy. "Doctor Lauren Fielding of Starfleet."

"Yes. I overheard," he said, prolonging the handclasp until even he became aware of the impropriety. He abruptly let go. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Lauren—may I call you that? It just feels so bloody good to _touch_ somebody."

Though Van Allen's antics made Lauren uneasy, his behavior was understandable. Most any human isolated among Vulcans would eventually develop skin hunger and other emotional difficulties. She asked, "How long _have_ you been here?"

He shrugged. His eyes _were_ endearingly boyish and sincere. "Seasons upon seasons, as the Vulcans would say. I've bummed around so many of these clinics, I've lost track. Came here as a callow youth to study traditional Vulcan medicine. Somehow, I never found my way home." He offered a bright, hopeful smile. "Let me take your bag and show you to your berth. Then, the grand tour. What say?"

Lauren was definitely starting to relax. "Alright," she smiled in return. "Thank you."

A short time later, Doctor Van Allen introduced her to the Vulcan in charge of isolation. After passing through a sanitation field, they went into the hospital room where the victims of plakir-fee were being treated. By now the second case, a mere boy of thirteen, had been firmly diagnosed with the disease. Lauren's heart ached as she examined him and the young woman who had first been stricken. The boy lay semi-conscious in his bed. The woman had already progressed to second stage plakir-fee with its cruel illusion of improvement. Her yellowed face and stoic endurance reminded Lauren of Spock's own dreadful battle against the deadly disease shortly after Lauren joined the crew of the Enterprise.

As they left the room, Van Allen turned to her, his pleasant face full of concern. "You look a little peaked. Are you okay?"

Lauren took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. It's only that…my husband…"

"Oh my God. Plakir-fee?"

Once more she nodded.

"You were married to a Vulcan?"

"I _am_ ," she corrected. "He survived third stage plakir-fee."

Van Allen glanced in confusion at the gold band on her finger. Vulcans did not survive third stage plakir-fee, nor adorn their wives with wedding rings. "Third stage! But that's impossible!" he objected.

Lauren shook off her melancholy and smiled at him. "You really have been buried out here a long time, haven't you? It was in all the journals."

A light dawned in his eyes. "My word, the Starfleet fellow, the _half_ -Vulcan. Ambassador Sarek's son. What's his name?"

She told him.

"And you're the one working with histamine therapy."

"The very one."


	2. Chapter 2

Spock felt unwell. By telecom, Lauren advised him to raise the dosage on his medication, but he was losing all confidence in the capsules. A satisfactory way of regulating the male Vulcan's reproductive cycle had never been developed, yet Lauren continued to experiment. It was in her nature, just as the mating cycle was in his.

Spock overcame his malaise to take Simon into the safebelt on a khree feeding expedition. He had done this often as a boy, and knew the most favorable time of day, and type of food, for luring the timid rodents from their burrows. Together with his son, he distributed some kitchen leavings around the silent khree mounds. Then retreating a short distance, they stretched flat on their stomachs in the hot sand and waited for Eridani to finish sinking below the horizon.

Spock rested his chin on his arms, watching for the first sign of movement.

After a period of quiet, Simon suddenly whispered, "Why doesn't Grandfather like me?"

Startled, Spock turned to find Simon's eyes swimming with tears "Of course he likes you," Spock insisted in an equally low whisper.

Simon sniffled and shook his head. Tears fell from his eyes, into the parched red sand. "No, Father, he doesn't."

"Why do you say that?" Spock asked. "Has something happened?"

Simon fought for control. "I was out on the street with some Vulcan boys. They weren't very nice. Once of them had a little dead animal with bugs crawling on it. He threw it at me and…and said it was my dinner." His voice choked. "He called me a…a meat-sucking Earther."

It pained Spock to hear of his son suffering the same kind of taunts he had experienced in his own childhood. Gently he said, "That was very unkind of him—but what does this have to do with Sarek?"

Simon explained, "He was the only one home. When I told him about it, he just said that I shouldn't let their foolish words concern me, and to go wash."

"Ah," Spock said, "you felt he should have offered you more in the way of sympathy."

Simon nodded. "I don't think he even cared."

Spock opened his mouth to speak. How strange to be defending his father against this particular accusation, when he had carried it in his own heart for so many years. "Simon, your grandfather only seems distant and unemotional because he is Vulcan, but that does not mean he dislikes you."

"I don't know," Simon said, unconvinced. "Maybe he doesn't like me because I'm so human—almost _all_ human."

"Sarek married a human," Spock pointed out. "My mother is more human than even you, and he holds her dear."

"Does he?" Simon's eyes questioned him.

"Of course," Spock whispered. "But Vulcan do not show affection as openly as humans."

"Why not?"

It was time, Spock decided, that Simon was told of Vulcan's savage past and the saving changes in philosophy brought about by Surak's reformation. Simon listened to the story in silence. It was twilight when Spock finished. Little by little the broad face of T'Khut edged its way up from the horizon. As the barren old planet loomed into the purple sky, Simon stared at it and scooted closer to Spock. Clearly T'Khut frightened him, but his fear gave way to delight as first one little furry head, then another, emerged from the khree mounds. Bit by bit the shy, spotted creatures crept from the safety of their burrows and began nibbling on the bait. Soon the whole area was alive with them. When it was time to go, Simon rushed forward to try and touch one, but the panicked khree dove out of sight, and once more the desert was still.

Rising, Spock brushed off his clothes. Out in the distance a LeMatya screamed. Simon gripped his hand tightly as they walked home through the gathering darkness.

oooo

"I can't believe this!" cried Lauren. Taking a generous bite of the raspberry jelly doughnut, she washed it down with something nearly as incredible. _Milk—_ rich, cold cow's milk! So icy that it left frost on the glass. "Travis, how do you do it? How do you get these things out here in the middle of nowhere? On Vulcan, no less."

Across the small table, Van Allen assumed a dramatic pose. "I have my connections."

Lauren leaned back in her chair, in the cool comfort of her air-conditioned room. Maybe she shouldn't have let Travis in, but what else was she supposed to do when he showed up bearing such rare and delicious gifts? And he was so lonely for human company. As they shared their unconventional lunch, she had to admit that she also liked being around him. Maybe a little too much.

Suddenly self-conscious, she shifted and stared down at the half-eaten doughnut in her hand. Even without looking, she sensed that Travis was studying her wedding ring.

"So," he spoke into the silence, "can a half-Vulcan bond? What sort of marriage is it? Term? Life?"

She had to smile. "It sounds like you're talking about insurance."

"That doesn't answer my question."

She looked up at him and felt a warm stirring that she did not want to acknowledge. Travis reached across the table and touched her hand. Abruptly the warmth burst into flame. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart slammed. _What was wrong with her? This shouldn't be happening!_

Travis leaned toward her with an honest affection that was almost impossible to resist. Lauren dropped her doughnut and bolted to her feet. Her glass tumbled. Milk ran over the table and splashed onto the floor. Embarrassed, she turned aside, but he had already seen her tears coming.

He laughed uneasily. "Crying over spilled milk, eh?"

"Please go," she said. "I want to be alone."

He got up slowly and lingered by the door. "At least now," he said, "I know what kind of bond it is—or should I say— _isn't."_

Lauren flushed with shame. After he left, she sat on her bed and covered her face with her hands. In the seven years of her marriage she had scarcely even looked at another man, let alone feel this aching desire for someone other than her husband. Her thoughts drifted back to that other Time, aboard the Enterprise, before things went so terribly wrong. Little by little Spock's need had overtaken her until she was just as enslaved by it as him. _Was that it? Was it the pon farr working?_

She had been so worried about how Spock would manage his condition without her. Now she found herself wondering how _she_ would manage without him.

oooo

The following day brought little change in Spock's physical state. The continuing struggle to contain his urges and present a normal appearance to his parents and son left him feeling drained and edgy. He tried not to speculate on how long he must endure the torment of his Vulcan blood, or what might happen if his situation suddenly worsened. He missed Lauren acutely.

It was evening and the fever was flaring when Sarek asked Spock into his study. Hardly a convenient time, but Spock maintained an outward show of control as Sarek closed the door. They remained standing.

"You have not inquired about the disposition of Solkar's belongings," Sarek said unexpectedly.

"I…saw no reason to," Spock told him.

"Solkar left me the task of distributing his material possessions. You have been named as a recipient."

Spock stiffened. He did not care to be the recipient of anything belonging to Solkar.

"It is an _honor_ to be so named," Sarek said, a slight chill of admonishment in his tone.

Spock knew what was expected of him. Belated he said, "I am honored."

Sarek went into his closet and came out holding a large sealed carton. "Take it," he said. "The contents are yours."

As chance would have it, Simon was in the hallway when Spock emerged from his father's study with the box.

The boy's eyes lit with curiosity. "What's in that?"

Spock considered setting his unwanted inheritance aside until Simon was asleep, but decided that his son's presence might ease the strain of what was certain to be an unpleasant experience. "Come," he said, much to the boy's delight. "We will find out."

Spock took the carton to his room and set it on the floor beside his bed. Unsealing the lid, he took one quick glance inside before turning the job over to his eager son. Simon dove into the contents as if they were a treasure trove. One by one he brought out the Vulcan lyrettes and horns and woodwinds, pausing to question him about each one and extract a few notes. Spock found a pleasant irony in letting his very human son handle Solkar's precious instruments so carelessly. Knowing that Solkar was the primary channel through which Simon had inherited his musical talent made the situation even more ironic.

Simon bent over and rummaging deep in the carton, came up holding a long, flexible object with a bone handle. His eyes danced as he waved it through the air, producing a chilling sound.

"What's this one?" he asked.

Spock felt the blood rush to his face. "That is not a musical instrument," he somehow managed to say. It _was_ , however an instrument—of untold pain and humiliation. Spock was embarrassed to think of his father inventorying the sturpa and placing it among the other objects in the carton. Had Sarek wondered over the sturpa's meaning? Did he know what agony it had inflicted?

"Put it back," Spock said curtly.

"But what _is_ it?' Heedless of Spock's words, Simon flexed the woven leather between his hands.

Spock snatched it away from him and dropped it into the box, saying, "It is a sturpa—a whip that Vulcans use to punish willful, disobedient children."

Simon's face fell and he studied Spock warily. "Would you… ever use it to whip me?"

" _Never,"_ Spock said adamantly. Composing himself, he added in a gentler tone, "It's time you were in bed."

A few minutes later Spock went into Simon's room and found the boy already nestled under the lightweight covers. With a troubled expression, Simon asked, "When you were a boy…did Grandfather whip you?"

It was a moment before Spock answered, "No. Not Sarek."

"Why was that sturpa in with Solkar's instruments?'

 _Yes, why?_ Spock wondered. Had it been the old man's intention to shame and intimidate him one last time? Was it meant to remind him of the inherent "human weakness" that had set Spock apart from other boys? The subtle differences that would always set him apart? At last he said, "I don't know. Go to sleep, Simon."

"Mom always gives me a kiss," he said.

Spock was aware of how much the boy missed her. They both did. Feeling very awkward, he leaned down and pressed his lips to Simon's smooth forehead. Simon touched him on the cheek.

"Father," he said, "your face is so hot."

Spock went to the door and turning out the light, said, "Goodnight, Simon."

Back in his room, Spock stood and stared at the box. He wanted no part of Solkar or his belongings, whatever their monetary value. He felt restless and irritable. The demands of his Vulcan blood continued to nag at him, and with night coming on, it was bound to get worse.

Shoving the carton into a corner, he darkened the room. His need for Lauren was fast growing into a painful urgency, but there was nothing he could do about it. Lying down, Spock focused his mind on Solkar's box and kept it there.

oooo

Lauren stood at the window of the isolation room, gazing upon the two Vulcan patients inside. Her histamine therapy had saved Spock, but she was still unable to help a single full-blooded Vulcan. Ten years of research without any success. Sometimes she felt like giving up.

She heard footsteps behind her, and tensed. Fighting her feelings for Doctor Van Allen had become a constant battle. Now his warm hands touched her shoulders and he turned her around to face him. The yearning in his eyes made her legs go weak.

"Travis," she said, "no…"

"It's alright," he said softly. "We're alone."

"No," she objected, "it's _not_ alright. You don't understand."

"Yes, Lauren—I do."

His fingers tightened on her shoulders and he began to draw her into a kiss…

oooo

 _…Deep in the night a solution came to him. Rising, Spock dressed warmly and carried the carton down the dark hallway, and outside. He paused at the tool shed to find a shovel, then left the yard bearing his unwieldy burdens through the quiet streets of ShiKahr. He encountered no one. Turning away from town, he headed out into the concealing darkness of the safebelt._

 _T'Khut had slipped back below the horizon, leaving the stars very bright. With his Vulcan eyesight, Spock easily kept his footing on the uneven terrain. He walked until his arms grew weary of the awkward carton, then dropped it to the ground and began digging._

 _The shovel sank almost effortlessly into the sand. Despite the weakening effects of his fever, it would not take long to make the hole. Soon he would be rid of Solkar's box and its oppressive load of memories. If anyone asked him what had become of it, he would say nothing. A Vulcan was entitled to privacy._

 _Busy with the spade, he missed the light whisper of footsteps slowly approaching from the direction of town. He was not aware of the silent watcher until he paused to flex his arms._

 _Then T'Pring stepped forward._

 _Spock started at the sight of her, a strange mixture of anger and desire flooding him._

 _"I thought it was you," she said. "Spock what are you doing out here? What is in that box?"_

 _"That is none of your concern," he said brusquely._

 _Her eyes remained on his face, and she moved nearer. "You are not well. I can see—"_

 _"You followed me," he cut in. "Why?"_

 _"I think you know the answer to that," she said softly. "Spock, remember those other sands? The sands we stood upon as T'Pau pronounced the words of joining? This time I will not turn you away. This time I will be yours."_

 _Spock stared at her, his breath coming fast. Every inch of his body urged him to take her as his own—savagely, painfully. Did she not owe it to him? Did he not owe it to her from a time long before he met Lauren? He did not like leaving debts unpaid._

 _Tearing his eyes from her, he turned to dig._

 _"Spock," she said, seizing him by the sleeve._

 _Made furious by her persistence, he swung around and a sweep of his arm sent her sprawling._

 _"Go away from here!" he commanded._

 _She rose up on one elbow, her defiant eyes glimmering. "Are you or are you not a man?" she sneered._

 _The starlight cast an eerie glow over T'Pring's features. Spock felt his fingers clenching the handle of his father's spade and considered using it on her. Had he not hurt women before? Ensign Weller on Mega Morbidus…and Lauren aboard the Enterprise._

 _T'Pring's eyes scorned him. "To think of all the years I wasted waiting for you! I was right to choose Stonn! He was not a legend among Vulcans or a Starfleet hero—but at least he was a man!"_

 _Provoked beyond endurance, Spock hurled the shovel aside and stood over her. She was at hand and she was willing. That was more than he could say for his wife..._

 _"…Spock?" A man's voice intruded._

 _With a gasp, Spock peered into the shadows._

 _"Spock," it came again..._

The desert night faded away. Spock awoke and found himself lying on his bed. He raised his head and saw Sarek standing in the doorway of his darkened bedroom. Sighing in relief, he let his head drop back onto the pillow. He was fully awake now. He took a moment to try and distance himself from the effects of the nightmare. The attempt was futile.

"Yes, Father?" he said at last.

"There is a call from Lauren."

Spock had fallen asleep in his clothes. Rising, he walked as steadily as possible to the message center. Located in an alcove near the hall, it afforded some measure of privacy. At the screen, his eyes devoured Lauren's image hungrily.

"Spock," she said, her voice urgent, "it's gotten worse, hasn't it?"

He sank shakily into the chair. "I am not going to tell you I am alright."

"I don't like the look of you," she said low. "Haven't you been taking the T-ban?"

Spock searched his mind. It frightened him that he could not remember. The pon farr was affecting more than his body now. It was starting to cloud his intellect, and he could not bear the thought.

Lauren's eyes widened with alarm. "That's it—I'm coming back. I'll be on the next shuttle out of here."

He did not object.

"Take two capsules," she ordered. "Take them now, while I'm watching."

The words rankled. Was he a child who must be monitored? He did not care if Lauren was a doctor, he did not like the idea of his woman telling him what to do. Coldly he said, "I will decide for myself if any medication is in order."

Her blue eyes narrowed at him. "Spock, listen to me! You're not thinking clearly. This isn't some macho Vulcan power game. Try, just try, to remember that son of ours. Bring the T-ban to this screen and take two of those capsules. _Now!"_

He stared at her, the muscles along his jaw working from anger. "Capsules? That is not what I need, woman! A Vulcan would know that— _she_ would give me what I need, and give it gladly."

Even in his present state, Spock recognized the cruelty of his words. He watched, benumbed, as Lauren's eyes filled with tears. Before he could open his mouth again, the screen washed out to static. She had broken the connection.

Dazedly he rose and returned to the privacy of his room. Turning on a light, he found the container of capsules, and spilling a few, dumped the entire contents into his trembling hand. They sparkled in his palm like green gems.

 _Two. Is that what she had said? Or was it four?_

Spock fought to clear his mind. He found himself wondering what would happen if he misjudged the dosage—if, perhaps, he even took them all. Would it put him to sleep? A deep, dreamless sleep from which he could not awaken and hurt someone? Had he not vowed to take his own life if it came down to this again?

He was swallowing capsules when the door to his bedroom opened.

Spock turned and met the dark, piercing eyes of his father. Sarek strode forward and scooped the remaining T-ban from Spock's open hand.

"How many have you taken?" Sarek asked in a tone more urgent than Spock had ever heard from him before.

Spock tried to remember.

 _"Think!"_ Sarek insisted.

Spock shook his head, reluctant to admit it. "Father, I don't know. I am not certain."

Sarek stooped down and gathered up the capsules that had fallen on the floor. Then he counted them all.

"You could not have taken very many," he said, visibly relieved. "Get into bed, Spock. I will remain with you until Lauren arrives."

Spock did not question his father's authority. He did not wonder why Sarek had burst into his room and was staying to keep watch over him. Drugged with fever, he went back to his bed and tossed restlessly.

oooo

Lauren flexed her sore hand, bruised from the slap she had delivered to Van Allen's face. He had given her little choice. She did not want to think about what might have happened had she allowed him to complete that kiss.

Tired from the long, frustrating trip to ShiKahr, she reclined the shuttle seat. A sandstorm near ShiKetsu had grounded transportation for hours. As soon as traffic began moving again, she had gone only as far as the nearest transporter station. From there she had ridden the relays all the way to ShanaiKahr. This final leg of the journey was the worst—watching through the window as Eridani tinted the morning sky pink, and knowing he was so near.

Lauren put a call through to Sarek, informing him of her location. She could feel Spock's need reaching toward her across the miles. Over the years their bond had deepened. Now that the pon farr was upon them again, she no longer feared anything it might bring. Her only fear was that somehow she would be too late. She should never have left ShiKahr. She should never have parted from her husband at a time that left them both so vulnerable. A Vulcan woman would have known better.

The sky was pale crimson when she reached the estate house and let herself in. She went straight to Spock's room and opened the door. Pale light streamed from the high windows, revealing Sarek seated in a chair near the bed. Her eyes settled on the still form under the bed covers, and her need sharpened.

Sarek rose and came toward her. In a low voice he said, "I have sent Amanda and Simon ahead to the Lake District, and I am leaving now to join them. We will be gone for two days." Glancing toward Spock he said in parting, "He became…agitated…and I quieted him with a nerve pinch."

Lauren's eyes filled with tears of gratitude. "Thank you."

Alone, she took out her medscanner and approached the bed. Spock lay sleeping on his back, maddeningly desirable. As the scanner hummed softly she wondered how she could have looked at another—as if anyone but this man could satisfy the burning in her body and her soul. With trembling hands, she prepared an injection of the same compound she had been using in the capsules. Spock stirred as the sprayhypo stung his arm. He opened his eyes, blinked in confusion, and then focused on her face.

"Still mad at me?" she managed to say, willing to take whatever came, ready to surrender fully.

"Aisha," he whispered. _Beloved._ And then with both hands he reached for her.

oooo

The interlude proved to be sufficient. Any residual effects of the flare-up were easily handled during the nights that followed. It was unclear whether or not Lauren's medication had any part in Spock's rapid recovery. But for now the fever was behind him. It would take longer to recover from the embarrassment he was experiencing in his parents' presence.

The day of departure was nearing when Sarek asked his son to accompany him into ShanaiKahr on business. For Spock the hours crept by slowly, and Sarek had flown his skimmer halfway back to ShiKahr when he resolved to say what was on his mind. The day was hot, with a high thin layer of clouds. Focusing on the grayish-pink sky, Spock broke the oppressive silence in the cockpit.

"Father," he said, " I must tell you that I am not entirely unaware of how you assisted me when I was…indisposed. I feel that I should apologize for the inconvenience."

The skimmer's hum seemed unusually loud as it soared over the desert sand. Then Sarek replied, "There is no logic in apologizing for something over which you had no control."

Spock made himself turn and look at his father. They both knew he should not have separated from Lauren when his Time was upon him. It was a sign of flawed thinking that one might attribute to the pon farr…or to an inferior intellect. "That is most kind. However, I feel that I must at least thank you. And Father, please do not tell me that gratitude is also illogical."

Sarek's eyes remained on the course ahead of them. Predictably he said, "I will not remind you of that which you know so well."

Spock suppressed a sigh. "Father…" And he nearly added, " _You are insufferable"_ before he stopped himself.

Sarek's eyebrow climbed. "Yes, my son?"

Spock's lips pressed together and a hint of annoyance crept into his voice. "Father, you are making this very awkward. Why can you not accept something from me as simple as gratitude?"

Wordlessly Sarek cut speed, settled the skimmer into the remote tract of desert, and turned off the engine. The move caught Spock utterly by surprise. Trapped in the grounded skimmer with his father, he repressed a childish stirring of panic.

Sarek looked at him. "Spock, I have no wish to argue. Trust me, I have a passing understanding of what it means to be a Vulcan male. There is no reason to discuss the incident." He paused to finger a particle of travel dust on the skimmer's dash. Then he said, "I asked you on this trip because I wished to speak with you in complete privacy."

Spock waited in suspense for his father to elaborate. He had no choice but to wait.

Once more Sarek faced him, an oddly pained look in his dark eyes. "It is about Solkar…" His deep voice trailed off, as if what he had to say demanded a great deal of effort. "Were you aware that he kept a lifelong journal?"

Spock felt his composure slipping. "No. I was not."

Gravely Sarek said, "A few days ago I began reading it."

Spock averted his face as a warm flush spread over him.

"It has proven to be…most revealing." Sarek continued, barely above a whisper. "I was aware that Solkar did not approve of my marriage to your mother, but later he seemed…more accepting. I had no idea…" He actually faltered. "No idea that he was so profoundly bigoted. I had no idea…of the abuse to which he subjected you…because you were partly human. Had I known—" He broke off and fell silent.

A sudden, searing flood of emotion threatened to bring tears. Spock struggled to stop them.

Quietly Sarek asked, "Why did you not tell me? Why did you not tell your mother?"

Spock swallowed hard against the painful constriction in his throat. In the midst of the nightmare he searched for words with which to answer his father, but there were none.

Finally Sarek said, "I do not mean to suggest that you were somehow at fault for not informing us. If the fault lies anywhere, it is with me. Surely, if I had been more vigilant, I would have seen the signs."

They turned as one and their eyes met. In the moment of relief, Spock could not remember ever feeling so close to his father. He saw Sarek's hands flex on the skimmer's controls and wondered what it would be like to feel those hands on his face—to share a true Vulcan closeness, mind joining to mind.

A few years ago Spock had defied custom to meld with his grown daughter, T'Beth. He did not regret what Vulcans would have considered to be a perversion. The joining had been a deeply moving experience; it had drawn them together in a new bond of understanding. T'Beth had asked for the meld. She had pleaded for it. There were no cultural strictures to prevent Spock from melding with his father, but though he yearned for the closeness it offered, he could not bring himself to ask. And so the moment passed.

Sarek said, "I see no point now in telling your mother. The knowledge would only bring her pain. The past cannot be changed."

"I agree," Spock told him.

He watched Sarek power up the skimmer. Then they were back in the air, journeying as silent and separate as before.

oooo

Tomorrow they were going home, and Simon was restless. Intense heat had kept him indoors much of the time. In San Francisco, he could have invited a friend over to play, but he did not relate well to the Vulcan boys.

Lauren watched him lean over the back of a sofa and stare out the living room window.

"When will Father be back?" he asked quietly.

From her chair across the room, she answered, "Before dark, I imagine."

He turned around. Settling on the seat, he frowned. "Vulcans put people's brains inside balls?"

Lauren stifled a laugh. "No, Simon, not brains. _Katras_. The Vulcans enshrine them in receptacles called _vrekatras."_ She was not sure that even she completely understood the Hall of Ancient Thought. "I suppose you could think of it as a library, jammed full of knowledge for those who have the proper training to read it."

"Does Father have the training?"

"No, honey, he doesn't. You have to be a kolinahru, and even they only read katras on special occasions."

Simon looked confused. "Then why did he go?"

"Well," Lauren said, "the Hall is more than just a library. It's like a cemetery, too. With permission, Vulcans can go there to visit the resting place of friends and relatives who have died."

Simon picked up a lyrette from the sofa cushion and stroked the polished, ebony surface of its wood before playing a tune. They had not brought his violin with them to Vulcan. It sometimes seemed to Lauren as if Simon immersed himself much too deeply in his music for a child of six, for even a partly Vulcan child. She had thought a break would do him good, but now Simon had talked his father into giving him free play of Solkar's instruments.

Simon's fingers left the strings and he said, "Father's going to die soon, isn't he?"

Lauren's jaw dropped. "What?"

"He's old—as old as my friends' grandfathers."

"He's barely in his sixties," she said, "by human years. That's not old for a Vulcan. Think of how young he looks."

"But Mom," he persisted, "you're _lots_ younger than him—more than twenty-five years."

He made it sound like a lifetime of difference, but Lauren sometimes wished the age gap were even wider. She could not bear the thought of growing old while Spock lived on, filling each moment of his days with all the ordinary happenings she would never share again. Perhaps even finding someone new with whom to share them.

Since the passing of his Time, they were closer than ever. Lauren had expected trouble over Van Allen, but Spock understood the power of hormones and knew that Lauren's passing attraction for the doctor had never posed any real threat to their bond.

He placed most of the blame on Van Allen, and Lauren was not inclined to forgive the conniving T'Pring, either. There was, however, one amusing outcome from the episode at ShiKetsu. Between Lauren and Spock, an "appetite for jelly doughnuts" now referred to hunger of another sort.

"Mom." Simon's voice intruded. Holding the lyrette, he squeezed in beside her. His nose wrinkled with distaste. "What's that awful smell?"

Lauren sniffed the air. Off in the kitchen she heard a knife chopping away on a cutting board, and she broke into a wry smile. "It's plomeek. A popular Vulcan food."

Simon leaned closer and whispered, "Do I have to eat it?"

"No," she answered, "the soup is for your father. But it wouldn't hurt you to taste it." Heaven knows, Spock had been politely choking it down all his life. Amanda had introduced it to him at the traditional feast following his betrothal ceremony at seven years of age, fully expecting that he would enjoy the Vulcan treat. "Well, what do you think?" she had asked with a smile. And Spock had answered, "It has a very distinctive flavor." Being a little too human, he had not wanted to disappoint her. From there, the misunderstanding had snowballed (if anything could be said to snowball in Vulcan's heat) until Spock dared not let his mother know how he really felt about the foul red concoction she had lovingly forced on him through the years.

How odd, that this kind of thing could happen even in the rigid honesty of Vulcan culture. Lauren had pried the truth out of Spock when she caught him disposing of some leftover soup after his mother's first visit to their home. What made the situation even more comical was the fact that Amanda herself detested plomeek; she had privately told Lauren only two days ago.

Smiling, Lauren put her arm around Simon and gave him a hug. "It's good to try new things, but it's okay if you don't like them. Just say so politely."

Simon looked relieved. Positioning the lyrette on his lap, he coaxed a strange, alien melody from its strings.

oooo

Spock stood alone in the great Hall, awed by the sight before him. Thousands upon thousands of glowing orbs were set upon stands or into niches, each entombing a living katra. Rock passageways holding yet more vrekatras branched off in all directions.

Aside from his years as an initiate, he had come here only once, to sit in the radiance of his grandfather, Skon, before defying Sarek to join Starfleet. He had never attempted to touch the energy field, however lightly. He had always known his own limitations, just as he knew them now. He had failed in his bid to become a kolinahru. Attempting any kind of meld could prove fatal.

Taking his time, Spock walked the maze of passages, following the instructions given to him by the Watcher. At last he arrived at the niche of polished stone that held the orb bearing his great-grandfather's name

He stopped. For unmeasured moments he stared at the smooth globe, studying its bright pulsing force field. His mind sensed the powerful personality contained within, and responded to Solkar's presence with distaste.

Spock stretched out his hand. The light enclosing Solkar's essence illuminated his palm. He could feel his skin tingling from the force field and reached no farther. He wondered if Solkar's katra was aware of his presence. It did not really matter. He would do what he had come to do.

Reaching into his robe, he felt for the bone handle protruding from a deep inner pocket. He brought out the sturpa, broke it over his knee, and placed it beside Solkar's vrekatra so that the light shone upon it. If Sarek ever ventured into the Hall, he would recognize the broken sturpa and understand why it was there. Others would only wonder.

Something inside Spock relaxed, and he turned away. That unpleasant portion of his past was behind him now—truly behind him. As he retraced his steps, he saw the vast sea of globes as a luminous chain linking him to his Vulcan ancestors. Half of what he was could be traced to the black stone recesses of this Hall. And there was that smaller Vulcan part which would live on in T'Beth and Simon. Spock had always identified with his Vulcan heritage; a fleeting regret over the ongoing dilution of genes was inevitable. But he did not regret his union with Lauren or the precious, nearly human child it had produced. Life—whether Vulcan, human, or Sy—would follow its own course. It must be respected and valued in every form.

Spock emerged from the dim recesses of the Hall, into Eridani's red heat. And he was glad to be among the living.


End file.
